


After the Fall

by wingstocarryon (hollyrowan)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Possession, Canon Compliant, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Lucifer's Cage, Possession, Rape, Torture, excerpts from Sam's first time in the cage, lack of bodily autonomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:24:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyrowan/pseuds/wingstocarryon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpts from Sam's first time in the cage.</p><p>*     </p><p>He could hear the voice coming from his own throat but it wasn’t his voice. It wasn’t him. It was Lucifer, like before, like above. Sam had –</p><p>They had—</p><p>Fallen. They had fallen.</p><p>The memories were coming back now.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>I’ve got him, Dean. I did it. It’s done.</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Descriptions of possession might be triggering for anyone with issues around bodily autonomy. Later chapters have some more disturbing events referenced in the tags. Nothing is explicit but I'm tagging on the careful side.
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr (wingstocarryon.tumblr.com)

There was pain. Pain and nothing else. Sam drifted…

 

Somebody was breathing, close by. Harsh rasps, in and out.

Sam’s entire body was prickling with cold. It seemed to flood through his bones, through his teeth, through his limbs.

The breathing dragged on, he could hear it. Was it somebody near him, somebody else in pain? He tried to turn his head. He couldn’t.

Panic. He tried to move, tried to lift his limbs, anything, tried to open his eyes, move his arms, legs. He couldn’t. They were immoveable, heavy, stuck in place.

Something wasn’t connecting.

He tried to breathe. He couldn’t.

But his chest was already constricting and expanding, he realized. He could feel the rush of air inside his lungs, inside his throat and mouth. He was already breathing. The rasping breathing was him.

Somebody was breathing for him.

 

Light. His eyes were open and a floor was stretching away from him. Dark grey, iron. The light was dim and constant, except for the occasional flash, like lightening. Where that was coming from, Sam didn’t know.

His body lurched up onto his hands and knees.

He didn’t cry out, even though he would have. The pain peaked, grinding in his side. Instead of retching he cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and stood up. The pain whited everything out, burning up his side and down one leg. Cracked ribs from the bullet wound, he thought distantly, oh god it’s a bad one, _Dean,_ and something was wrong with his knee. He could feel something grinding as he put _weight_ on it.

He didn’t scream, his throat just didn’t. Instead his head turned and he looked around at the latticed iron wall and over at a latticed iron corner. There was a ceiling overhead, barred. He could feel a sort of growing rage brewing, a white-cold force against the back of his mind. He felt himself take a step towards the wall, onto his busted knee. It buckled.

Sam’s body didn’t throw up at the pain. It didn’t do anything, even when he threw himself against the immoveable force of his own bones, trying to take the weight off the busted knee. His body didn’t move. Instead it sighed.

“Vessels,” it said with disgust.

He could hear the voice coming from his own throat but it wasn’t his voice. It wasn’t him. It was Lucifer, like before, like above. Sam had –

They had—

Fallen. They had fallen.

The memories were coming back now.

_I’ve got him, Dean. I did it. It’s done._

 

 _It’s done._ The relief was so intense that Sam hardly noticed Lucifer touching the damaged knee. Lucifer pressed a hand to his own chest, and Sam could see a reflected light against the wall – the _cage_ wall, he was realizing. He was realizing where they were, because he had done it, he had _done it –_ and he felt his chest burn with something that wasn’t quite heat but _grace,_ like when Cas had healed him in the past. The pain in his leg and side washed away and the absence of pain was like bliss.

 _I did it, Dean. I got him_. _He’s here. You’re –_

_You’re alive. And the world…_

_It’s safe._

_You’re all safe._

_Dean –_ Dean looking at him through a busted to hell black eye. Dean’s face breaking under his fist. Dean slurring through broken teeth. _I’m here, I’m here. Dean's eyes begging him to jump and at the same time --_ Those legos in the vent, the toy soldier in the car. The car. The car and Dean. Home. _You’ve always had a home._

Sam couldn’t curl onto his knees, he couldn’t say Dean’s name, he couldn’t –

 

 _We did it,_ he told himself fiercely instead. _I did it, Dean. I **got** him._


	2. Chapter 2

 

The cage was big. It seemed small but it had more corners than you would imagine. More walls. They stretched away into the dark. Sam could hear something, moving around. Was it Michael and Adam? Oh god _Adam…_

Sam couldn’t see far. They must be here.

Lucifer was looking at the wall. He ran a hand along it, and Sam could feel the cold rough iron and at the back of his own mind the cold, cold _rage_ brewing and then Lucifer drew back and _punched_ the wall.

Sam felt his knuckles break.

Lucifer said “Oh Sam. Saaaam…” He flexed the broken hand. “That was stupid.”

Sam remembered Castiel saying that he had never really felt it, before he started losing his grace. What his vessel felt.

 

*

 

Sam was running through his own mind. Rooms sped past, motel rooms he’d lived in, dorm rooms, Flagstaff, places he’d stayed as a child or with Dean.

He stopped to catch his breath in a blue-themed motel room with little boats on the walls.

He had stayed here on a Revenant case with Dean. He remembered it. He went to the window and looked out. The world outside was dark, quaking. The cold was seeping in, making his joints freeze up, making him shiver. He turned and ran for the door, wrenched it open and fell out into –

His and Jess’s living room.

He stared around. Potted plants hung from the ceiling, and one of Jess’s paintings was on the wall, the one with the dog with the soulful eyes and the moon overhead. He’d loved it.

This all burned, he thought, because of you. Lucifer. For a moment he was suffused with rage.

“Sam _._ ”

He turned. Lucifer was standing in front of Jess’s potted geranium. Sam closed his teeth over his own snarl.

Lucifer looked around. 

“If you’re trying to run from me into your past,” he said, “I think we both know how futile that is.” He took a step forward. “Think your memories can shield you? From me? Sammy?”

His hand trailed over the dresser, over her paint set.

“Don’t call me that,” said Sam.

“Sam, then. Oh Sam. Sam…” Lucifer took another step forward. “You have to know this is no place to hide from me. Not inside your own head.” Lucifer tilted his head to the side, gave a grin. “Cause you’ve got to remember: I’m in here too. I’m in your coconut with you, Sam.”

“I know,” said Sam, just as the room caught fire.

He couldn’t help himself. He ran for her bedroom.

He felt himself burning.

 

*

 

He came to in the middle of a deserted highway. Somewhere in Kansas, he thought. Flat fields. The Impala loomed black over him, and he crawled up and leaned thankfully against it.

A shadow fell over him. Lucifer, standing just feet from him, staring at the car. Lucifer had a look on his face Sam had never seen before. An arrested look. Like seeing the car had brought him up short.

Sam cleared his throat. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said.

Lucifer’s gaze turned onto him, pale. 

“You don’t understand it,” Sam continued.

Lucifer blinked. Then he shrugged, arms out. “I admit,” he said, “I’m curious. Did you have fun, playing with your brother? With those army men. In that… car?”

Sam laughed. “You really want to understand?” said Sam. “Guess you never played with  _your_ brother.”

Lucifer frowned.

“You want to know what it's about," said Sam. "Playing in the car with the damn army men? You want to know?" Lucifer’s face was shadowed by a set of passing headlights, red and then blue. “Sure,” said Sam. “I’ll tell you.”

Lucifer moved infinitesimally closer, his eyes on Sam’s, fixed.

Sam spoke low but clear. “Get the hell out," said Sam, "of my fucking head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come!
> 
> I wasn't sure whether to add this, because the first part was sort of self contained. But I decided to. 
> 
> More has been written, and will be edited and posted soon. Sorry for the short chapter. It's easier to edit and post in short bits.
> 
> Comments and concrit welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for sexual assault/rape and thoughts of death apply to this chapter. This is the last chapter. Thanks for reading!

“Sam. Saaaam. You know you want to wake up. Come on.”

Sam groaned.

He’d been trying to stay awake, to keep himself alert. He’d been crouched in the corner, in the shadows. He had one hand pinched under his boot, pinching the flesh to keep himself awake. There was a fuzzy black tiredness at the edge of his brain, beckoning. It had been… how long? Chicago, Stull cemetery… Dean… his mind veered away from that memory and took him here. How long since he’d fallen, how long since the cage closed above them?

He didn’t know. Michael and Lucifer had been fighting. He'd been crouched here. There was no day, no night.

His watch was still counting but he didn’t know whether it was 6:29 am or 6:29 at night, and he didn’t know if the date was right. It seemed like a week had passed, but it might have been a month. Dean had said that time had moved differently for him in Hell.

He didn’t seem to be hungry. But he was still tired. Sleep still called to him.

Flashes illuminated the cage like lightening, but other than that, there was no change to the light outside. It smelled like ozone, burning and dry. The air seemed to scrape in his lungs.

“Sam,” said Lucifer. “You think you can just kick me out like that, and I’ll forget about you? Buddy, oh buddy, it doesn’t work that way.”

Lucifer was crouched on his haunches within reach. He was in the shape of a man, Nick, his former vessel.

“Leave me alone,” Sam ground out.

“Yeah well, unfortunately,” said Lucifer, rolling his shoulders, “not much else to do. If you can hook me up with some TV, though…” he shrugged. “That might buy you a few years. Maybe more. I hear there’s a lot for me to catch up on.”

Lucifer inspected his (Nick’s?) fingernails. (No, it wasn’t Nick. This was just a shape, because they were in Hell and Lucifer didn’t need a vessel here. Nick was dead). “How ‘bout it, Sam? You and me. Downton Abbey.”

Sam said nothing.

“We could have fun,” said Lucifer. “Or maybe that’s not to your taste. Huh? You prefer something closer to reality?  _The Bachelor,_ then. Who is going to choose… _who?_ ”

He reached out, placed a hand on Sam’s knee. Sam jerked his leg back. Lucifer chuckled. He got up, took a turn down the cage and back.

“I know. _Big Brother_. Huh? Ring a bell?”

Sam flinched.

“No, but, think about it, Sam. Couple of guys… stuck in close quarters… Waddaya say, Sam? Our very own caged match.”

He was looking at Sam expectantly. Sam cleared this throat.

“I don’t think they have cable down here,” he said.

“That’s it, Sam. Play along. Engage in the conversation!” Lucifer was standing up, coming closer. Boxing Sam in. “Good thing I’ve got you, buddy. Better than any TV set.”

Like playing along was going to get him anywhere.

Nothing was going to get him anywhere. He knew that.

He could see Lucifer drawing closer. Sam breathed out long, leaned his head back against the wrought iron wall. He knew, already. He knew that this was it.

 

*

 

“You’re not going to let me in?” said Lucifer. “You know you want to.”

“No,” said Sam. “Stop. Stop!”

 

*

 

“We were made for each other. Right? We fit together – like puzzle pieces.” The hand trailed down his back, over the raw wounds. “Isn’t that just romantic?” said Lucifer.

Sam couldn’t speak.

“It is,” said Lucifer. “It is romantic. You and me. See how we fit.” He pushed, and Sam made a noise between a breath and a sob.

The hand trailed down over the wounds again, then caught him around the shoulders, pulled him in closer. Like an embrace. Lucifer was cold against his back, sweat prickling in the wounds. Sam tried to arch away but an arm came up around his throat.

“I’ve already been inside you, Sam. Inside all of you.” Lucifer whispered against the back of Sam’s neck. “How is this any different?”

 

*

 

“Shh, shh.” The voice was soothing, quiet.

Sam tried to open his eyes. He could feel a hand against his shoulder, warm, squeezing. Dean?

“Shh,” the voice said again. “Don’t try to talk.”

He struggled again to open his eyes. Something was sticky, pooled in his eye sockets. He could smell blood.

His neck muscles were jumping, too tired to lift his head for long, and he let it fall to the cold floor again. He couldn’t. He felt so heavy, like his bones were lead.

He felt again the hand, on his face. Touching. Cheek, eyelid, ear. Then, something else, something wet and warm on his eyelid. Hot breath ghosting over his skin. Wet, wet, gentle. A tongue. His stomach twisted.

“Don’t,” Sam whispered. He turned his face away.

“Shh,” the voice murmured. The hand was in his hair, petting gently. It wasn’t Dean. He knew who it was.

 

*

 

When his watch stopped it was like a death.

He didn’t shed tears, anymore. He didn’t cry over Dean, over Bobby. Over Adam, who had let himself become a vessel, who no longer fought Michael, who didn’t try to kick him out. Sam didn’t.

He deserved this, surely. Or if he didn't, it didn't matter. He just existed. Sometimes he screamed, sometimes he breathed and breathed and breathed through pain. Even existing was painful.

Time had become indiscernible to him. Dimly, he remembered day and night. It was impossible to tell if time was really passing. Except the watch. The idea that something was keeping track of it, that something was proving that time was passing. That was something. It made him think that maybe something beyond himself existed. That maybe, just maybe, this was real.

That he was more than just a collection of nerve cells for Lucifer to play with.

That maybe there were still people who might remember him.

That maybe he was a person.

What was the lifespan of an average watch battery? He didn’t know, but it seemed to have been years. Hundreds. Hundreds of years.

It was a digital watch. It gave a date, though he thought the number was factually useless. Still. It ran out on a Tuesday.

The little numbers stopped twitching from one to another. And Sam watched himself go.

 

*

 

Death came quietly, quietly. Softer than a lullaby. Darker than a shadow on the edge of the cage. Even Lucifer hesitated.

Even archangels were afraid of death.

Death wore patent leather shoes, and they creaked as he walked the iron floor. Sam blinked at them blurrily as they stopped in front of his face.

Slowly, Sam looked up. Death was bending, bending over him. He seemed giant and at the same time fragile, like a huge oversized bird.

Was this real? Was Sam real?

“Sam,” Death said. And Sam looked into Death’s eyes and saw weariness as old as the sand in a desert. It was the weariness of someone who had been far too long, and felt far too much. For a moment, Sam looked into Death and understood him.

“Oh, Sam,” said Death. “My boy.”

Death touched the top of Sam’s head. Sam had almost no skin left, almost no protection between him and the winds of hell. He shivered as he lay propped against the bars.

A tear dropped off the end of Death’s nose. It landed on what was left of Sam’s shirt. Sam blinked at it.

“I am sorry, Sam,” said Death.

Sam shook his head. He smiled and he closed his eyes and let Death take him.

 

Death’s embrace smelled like leather and ancient cologne, and his hands were infinitely gentle. Sam faintly felt them rising up, up, up.

 

 

He wasn’t expecting the light.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite sure where this came from, this is kind of... dark. So... sorry.
> 
> Sam's reactions to Lucifer in season 7 and now in season 11 are just breaking my heart. SOMEONE NEEDS TO PROTECT SAM WINCHESTER IMMEDIATELY


End file.
